


Brave New World

by windychimes



Category: Bastion
Genre: Gen, evacuation ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windychimes/pseuds/windychimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zia doesn't miss the old world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave New World

Zia doesn’t miss the old world. Caelondia… Caelondia was her home, but not really. It was beautiful, and it was the only place she knew, but it wasn’t a real home. It was a holding place. Being shunned by everyone didn’t make it home. Her father always working didn’t make it home. The Marshals’ watchful eye didn’t make it home. Nothing could make it home.

Zia asks Zulf if he misses the old world and his hands clench. No, he says with a face like thunder. Not after what I learned.

What if the Calamity had never happened?

…Yes, is all he says, and gets very quiet. He goes to his tent and doesn’t come out for a long while and Zia leaves him alone.

When Zia asks Rucks if he misses the old world, he picks up a book. Look in here, he says, and flips to a page about Garmuth. Flips to a page about Lemaign. Flips to a page about Yudrig.

I don’t understand, says Zia. She knows most Ura worship the gods, but Zia knows nothing about them. Her father never taught her. Is this good or bad?

Rucks laughs like leather and closes the book. You’ll understand it in time, is all he says, and sends her on her way.

Zia finds the Kid working on his weapons and almost doesn’t ask him. No one else has given her a good answer, and the Kid… he’s great, but he’s never been one much for words. He specializes in building and breaking, not talking. But when there’s an island of only four people, there’s not much else she can do.

She’s quiet when she walks up behind him, footsteps soft like sand in the wind. He does a twist here, a cut there, and as he works under his breath he hums the tune to a song Zia likes to sing. His weapon gleams bronzy and hard in the dim light of his workstation and Zia thinks of all the things he’s had to fight. Of every bullet he’s ever shot. Of every thrust of his spear and slam of his hammer.

Of every person he had to kill.

Hey, she says, and the Kid’s shoulders hunch up like he’s ready to spring into action. Like he’s ready to fight. She could easily be a Windbag, or a Squirt, or a hostile Ura. One wrong move and his hammer could be crushing her head in before he realizes who it is.

But the Kid would never hurt her, no matter what happened. Zia sits down beside him. Are you busy? she asks. The Kid looks at his hammer, then at her. His hammer, then her. He shakes his head.

Do you miss the old world? Zia locks eyes with him when she asks him, locks eyes like the trigger of his gun locks on Windbags and Scumbags and those dangerous animals of the Wilds. Maybe it’s a silly question to ask someone who chose to evacuate instead of restart everything, but everyone has regrets. Even heroes do.

Everyone else had quick answers, but not the Kid. He leans back in his seat, rocks back and forth, mulls it over in his head. Zia just watches him, the light flickering over his cheek and casting shadows. When she was young, when things were different, her father showed her how to make shadow animals. This is a bird, he would say, and flap his fingers to show the motion of the wings. Zia would be so enthralled, so excited, as she mimicked his motions. Good job, her father would say. You made a bird.

I’m proud of you, her father would say.

She thinks about doing it to the light. Doing it against his face. But that’d just be silly, wouldn’t it.

I always wanted to be a Marshal, he finally says, his voice quiet as the flicker of a flame. The Marshals, they liked me, I think. I did a second tour of the Wall… I don’t think anyone else ever did that. He smiles in a way Zia can’t quite read. In a way Zia doesn’t quite like. It would have been nice to be a Marshal. But…

He shakes his head, changes his smile. It’s good again. It’s the smile he makes when he wins a round of cards; the smile he makes when he eats Zia’s cooking; the smile he makes when he comes back victorious from the Proving Grounds.

It’s Zia’s favorite smile.

I think I made the right decision. I didn’t have friends back then. But now I do. He takes her hand, his eyes shining in excitement, big and bright like the moon. I have you, and Zulf, and Rucks. We’re like a… like a…

A family, Zia finishes. None of them had families here, not really; her father was… her father; in the twinkling dawn, all alone and a little drunk, Zulf has told her of the plague that took his parents; no one would do a second shift at The Wall if they had a family; Rucks… she doesn’t know about him, but when he looks at the Kid sometimes, gets misty-eyed in pride like a father would, Zia’s pretty sure if he had anyone, they were long gone before the Calamity.

Birds of a feather, all of them.

Right! Like a family! The Kid’s shaking her hand now, bouncing up and down in his seat and pulling her into a tight hug. Zia laughs, because he’s silly, because she’s happy, and then she cries, and she’s not sure why.

Being happy, being truly happy… she doesn’t even know to do with it. Having a family, having a real family… she doesn’t even know what to do with it. But as long as she has the Kid, and Zulf, and Rucks, she can figure it out. As long as she has them, she can do anything. As long as she has them, she doesn’t need the old world.

As long as she has them, they can create a new world.


End file.
